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“You can shower at my place,” he says with a crooked grin. “We could shower together.”
As tempting as that is, I just want to collapse into my pillows and sleep for a week. “Next time.”
“Tease.”
He hands me the coat I blessedly didn’t lose at the rave, and we settle in for the ride home. Nothing’s ever felt more refreshing than the cold morning air blowing across my skin as we make our way back to Notting Hill. This early, there are hardly any cars on the road. London is relatively quiet, shining with dew and sparkling in the sunlight. The perfect beautiful end to an extraordinary night.
Or it would have been, if not for Jack stepping out the front door when Nate drops me off at the house. He’s shirtless in a pair of jogging pants and sneakers. Pauses only long enough to spot Nate at the curb over my shoulder, then puts in his earbuds, hardly acknowledging my existence before passing me to jog down the sidewalk.
“Call me later,” I tell Nate, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Abbey.”
“Yeah?” I stop halfway up the stoop, turning to find Nate watching me with contemplative eyes.
“You’re bloody fantastic.”
The compliment comes out of nowhere and makes my heart skip a beat.
“Oh. Thanks.” I give him a broad smile. “And thank you for tonight. I’ll never forget it.”
I duck into the house, still feeling myself blushing as I hurry up the stairs. After a shower, I put myself to bed tangled in knots again. As wonderful as last night was, it’s not enough to distract me from the thickening tension between me and Jack. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do about it, but I know the status quo is unsustainable.
Later, Nate calls me as promised. I’m reading at the kitchen counter when my phone lights up, so I mark my page and answer, smiling when his husky voice fills my ear.
“I’ve good news and bad news,” he says in lieu of greeting. “Which would you like to hear first?”
“Bad, obviously.”
He chuckles. “Forever the optimist.”
“Or am I saving the best for last?” I counter.
“No. You’re just a cynic.”
“How dare you.” I trace my finger along the spine of my book. It’s about famous boat disasters, but so far, the information about theVictoriasinking has been bare bones. “All right, tell me the bad part.”
“I’m off to Dublin tomorrow evening for ten days. The band booked a gig at a three-day winter festival over there, so we’re making a lads’ trip out of it.”
“This sounds like good news,” I point out.
“You won’t see my dashing face for nearly two weeks. I reckon you’ll be devastated.”
“Hilarious. You’re fucking hilarious.” But I’m smiling to myself. Laid-back, jokey Nate is a rare treat. “Seriously, though, that’s good news. Sucks you’ll be gone for so long, but booking a festival is great.”
“Pays great too. Which is the good news. Thanks to this gig, I’ll be able to squeeze in a short trip to Budapest in the spring.”
“Nice. And your work’s okay with you taking ten days off?”
“My bandmate’s wife owns the bar. One of the perks of the job.”
“Ah. Lucky.” I shift the phone to my other ear. “Make sure to send me a gazillion pics from Dublin. I’ve never been. But my dad has some pretty wild stories about hanging out with Bono at an Irish charity event they did together.”
Even as I say the words, my spirits sink slightly. There I go again, living vicariously through my father.
“Yes, but has your dad ever spontaneously hunted down a rave at three in the morning and danced all night with the hottest bloke in London?”
“This new conceited side? I’m digging it, Nate. Keep it up.”
